


Gasconade

by Maple



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: Gen, telling tall tales
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-19
Updated: 2011-06-19
Packaged: 2017-10-20 13:16:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/213171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maple/pseuds/Maple
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just three guys sitting around drinking, telling tall tales.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gasconade

“You played in the World Cup?” Joe challenged, eyebrows raised to the rafters.

“Absolutely. Only about five minutes, mostly I was on the bench–I wasn’t that good–but I played absolutely.” Methos stared into the distance, memory dancing across his face. “It was glorious.”

“What year?” Duncan asked suspiciously. In his younger years, he’d been prepossessed with football. Totally smitten and obsessed, he’d played with all his heart and had once been a rising star, until the moment he’d realized that his Immortal healing was giving him the edge. The usual soreness, bruises, and aches and pains of training and practicing had sluiced off him more quickly, and every day. His teammates had dealt with pulled muscles, torn ligaments, and a thousand other daily torments of wear and tear. Despite loving the game, Duncan had torn himself away from it. He still played for fun, in leagues and pick-up games, but he’d never allowed himself to dream large again.

“Not recently,” Methos said.

“What team?” Joe demanded, crossing his arms purposefully.

Methos shrugged. “I can’t tell you everything.” He grinned and slouched back into his chair. “But check it out, I was there.”

“I’m not spending hours researching one of your embellishments,” Joe said bitterly. “Last time you told me that you were an Olympian, and you made that up.”

“I did not!” Methos protested. “It was early days, and they didn’t keep very good records. I threw the javelin. ”

“Should be easy for a man hunting his own prey since the dawn of time,” Duncan muttered, and took a polite sip of his own beer, and grabbed a couple peanuts out of the dish.

“I heard that, Highlander.” Methos stared at him darkly.

“If you did do it, nobody took notice of the fact that you were competing,” Joe told him, tapping a pointed finger on the table for emphasis.

Methos narrowed his eyes.

“Did I ever tell you about the time I played for the New York Yankees?” Duncan interjected between them with lubricity.

Joe practically wheeled about in his chair. “Don’t you start.” He paused, then took the bait. “When?”

“Right after Ruth retired. It was only half a season. But it was sweet to watch Lou Gehrig get some of his own. Bobby Feller was a kid, but he could sure pitch against us.”

Methos snorted. “You watched from the stands.”

“I watched from the dugout,” Duncan corrected him. “Ok, technically, I never played. But I was one of the assistant managers. I got to wear the uniform.”

“Really.” Joe looked at him with incredulity.

“Absolutely.” Duncan gave them a brilliant smile. “But then I had a run in with a couple fans, of the Immortal variety, and I had to get out of town. Spent the rest of the year driving the touring bus for the Kansas City Monarchs.”

Joe shook his head. “That’s the damnedest story I ever heard. I could have sworn you were overseas at that time.” He contemplated his half empty glass. “I’m going to need more beer if I’m going to believe this malarkey.”

It was Duncan’s turn to shrug and smugly sip his beer.

Methos grinned toothily and laced his fingers behind his head as he looked toward the ceiling. “Have I ever mentioned that I helped Jimmy Naismith put up the peach baskets?”

Joe shook his head and started to get out of his seat.

“Where are you going?” Methos asked, a tinge of plaintiveness underlining his voice.

“I’m hungry,” Joe said. “I figured I’d go and get myself a baloney sandwich. That way I could eat it as well as have it flung at me.”

Methos laughed, and Duncan called after him, “Better bring sandwiches for everyone.”


End file.
